


You Can Leave Your Hat On

by TheResurrectionist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Gen, Kidnapping, Secret Identity, Tumblr Prompt, Underwear, basically a frustrated batdad who just wants to stop being kidnapped, sudden loss of clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:44:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: “No, you don’t understand,” Wayne cut in, gesturing back at the abandoned warehouse at the edge of the taped-off scene. “These–kidnapping attempts–always start out the same way. Remove the clothes. Humiliate the victim. Make them feel powerless, so they’re less likely to fight back. Remove all sense of their personality so they’re more likely to comply–”Jim tuned out his rant slightly, examining the small bats on Wayne’s boxers. Ignoring the fact that no underwear was meant to be worn that tight, the tiny decorations were almost…familiar.“–well, guess what, kidnappers?” Wayne punctuated his point with a jab of his hand, gesturing at his underwear. “I don’t feel powerless. My personality is righthere–-”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on tumblr and another prompt collection here, but decided to post separately since people asked!

“Mr. Wayne,” Jim asked, exasperated, “are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”

Wayne spared him an incredulous glance, brushing off yet another attempt by a nearby EMT to place a shock blanket around his shoulders. “ _Positive_. In fact, the only thing I want right now is to–would you  _stop_ , please?”

The EMT blushed, the foil blanket crumpling in her hands. Wayne grabbed her wrist, unembarrassed by his near-nudity, and gently nudged her back toward the ambulance. Instantly, the press gathered there pounced, shoving cameras and microphones in her face.

Jim shook his head, digging for the cigarettes in his jacket pocket. He pulled one out, searching in the other pocket for a lighter.

“Those’ll kill you, you know.” Wayne commented. He ignored a particularly bright camera flash, refusing to cross his arms or cover himself. Hell, maybe he liked showing off his perfectly-sculpted abs, and this was one big attempt at exhibitionism. Gotham had seen stranger.

“So will hypothermia.” Jim said, inhaling as he flicked the lighter.

“I’m not cold.” Wayne said, instantly. “Really.”

“I’m aware you feel that way, but–”

“No, you don’t understand,” Wayne cut in, gesturing back at the abandoned warehouse at the edge of the taped-off scene. “These– _kidnapping_ attempts–always start out the same way. Remove the clothes. Humiliate the victim. Make them feel powerless, so they’re less likely to fight back. Remove all sense of their personality so they’re more likely to comply–”

Jim tuned out his rant slightly, examining the small bats on Wayne’s boxers. Ignoring the fact that no underwear was meant to be worn that tight, the tiny decorations were almost…familiar.

“–well,  _guess what_ , kidnappers?” Wayne punctuated his point with a jab of his hand, gesturing at his underwear. “I don’t feel powerless. My personality is  _right here_ –”

A harried looking woman ducked under the crime tape, hurrying toward Wayne. The billionaire cut off as he was handed a cellphone, a look of relief passing over his face.

“Jason? Yeah, hi. No, I’m okay.” Wayne frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the cameras still gathered at the press line. “Live? Well, I’m not putting on one of those–yes, I understand that, but they’re that  _garish_ shade of yellow foil–”

Jim shook his head, realizing he wasn’t getting much coherent testimony out of Wayne for the rest of the night. The man seemed preternaturally unimpressed by the kidnapping attempts, but adrenaline and fear manifested themselves in strange ways, after all.

“You’re going to have to pick up Damian from soccer practice. Yeah, I know,” Wayne covered the receiver, mouthing  _one minute_  to Jim, complete with an upheld finger asking him to wait.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

“Look, the keys to the Porsche were in my dress pants, and if we’re being frank, those are probably in some Narrows dumpster at this point–”

Ramirez joined him, opening her mouth to say something. She frowned, spotting the bat-studded boxers, and wisely decided to stay silent. Jim puffed on his cigarette, watching the show.

“Alright. Alright. Please don’t kill him. Okay, bye.”

Wayne hung up, moving to slide the IPhone into his pants pocket. Ramirez did a poor job of covering up her snort, turning away as the billionaire stared at the phone, now flat on the ground.

“You have questions, I suppose?”

 _Lots_. 

Jim pursed his lips, unable to tear his eyes from the boxers. “I think they can wait until tomorrow, Mr. Wayne. You can come down to the station and give your statement in something more…comfortable.”

Wayne frowned, following his gaze to his underwear. “I’m perfectly comfortable.”

“That makes one of us.” Ramirez muttered, looking away. Jim had a feeling she was rolling her eyes.

“Let me rephrase,” Jim said, holding up a placating hand. “Please put on some clothes, Mr. Wayne. For the good of the GCPD.”

Wayne sent him a  _look_ , crouching to pick up his phone. Behind him, the camera flashes increased exponentially, catching every angle of the tight black and yellow boxers. “I’m going home,” he said, straightening back up.

“The EMTs need to check you for shock,” Ramirez said, as Wayne turned toward the press line, “You need to see them before you go.”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Wayne smiled, capricious, “The day you see me in one of those blankets, they won’t need to check.”

With that, he strode confidently toward the press line, ducking under the tape. Jim took another drag on his cigarette, waiting for Ramirez to say something.

“Did you see his…”

“We’re not talking about it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“We’re not talking about it.”

Jim paused, a cigarette halfway to his mouth. He considered the man’s lack of clothing. “You sure had a lot to say last time you got kidnapped.”

A displeased expression flickered across his face as he glanced at the press, huddled near the edge of the crime scene tape. They were climbing over each other to get a glimpse of the billionaire post-kidnapping, as if Gotham didn’t have anything else interesting going on tonight.

“I’m a changed man.” Wayne said, angling his body away from the cameras. “I’ve found chastity in the eyes of our lord, Jesus Christ.”

Jim flicked his lighter, inhaling. Behind him, he could hear Ramirez yelling at one of the GCPD interns about paint samples. He eyed the man’s abs, gaze drifting subconsciously toward the bright band of his underwear. “Really?”

“No,” Wayne turned, grabbing for a shock blanket from a passing EMT. She dodged his hands, sending him a dirty look. “Of course not. You think I have time to get involved in another scam?”

“…right.”

Behind them, cameras continued to flash, outlining the red, blue and yellow underwear in perfect kodachrome. The Superman insignia stretched across the back of the briefs, clinging tightly to Wayne’s ass.

“Mr. Wayne, I have to ask,” Jim said, puffing on his cigarette. He didn’t bother getting the paperwork out; it was unlikely Wayne would ever do it. “Why do you–”

“It’s  _underwear_ ,” Wayne interrupted, uncurling. He waved a hand. “Respectfully, Commissioner, a man should be able to wear  _whatever underwear_ he pleases in the privacy of his  _own home_  without worrying about being kidnapped, stripped of his clothes, and  _filmed naked on live television–”_

A reporter broke free from the crowd, ducking under the crime tape. Two beat officers immediately blocked his path. Jim kept an eye on the man–tall, dark-haired, thick glasses–and turned back to Wayne, who’d turned bright red with the exertion.

“–and so, yes, in conclusion, I  _am_ wearing Superman underwear. This is  _America_. I have a constitutional  _right_ to wear whatever I want. Last time I checked, property is an inalienable right in this country–”

Jim heard Ramirez fall into step beside him, silent. Her eyes roved up and down Wayne’s legs, amused.

“Nice panties, Wayne,” she said, “You get ‘em on sale?”

“Don’t patronize me, Ramirez,” the billionaire muttered, but the words had no bite. “Would you like to get kidnapped out of the blue every week? I mean, for Christ’s sake, I even had my assistant  _email_ them my schedule once, and they still took me in the middle of a meeting–”

“Mr. Wayne, wouldn’t you consider that a bit of security risk?”

Jim turned, following the deep voice to the dark-haired reporter who’d pushed through the tape earlier. He was standing a few feet away, pen cocked above a fresh sheet of his notebook. His press badge dangled under a devilish smile.

Wayne went silent, eyes locked with the newcomer. A hand pulled at the edge of his briefs, tugging them down over the top of his thighs.

“Aw,” Ramirez said, in the intervening silence. “He’s blushing. Look, Jim.”

“It’s not a security risk if it’s convenient,” Wayne finally forced out, cheeks bright pink. “Can I help you, Mr…”

“Kent,” the reporter replied, crisp. He scribbled something on the notepad, eyes flicking back up to his subject. “Mr. Wayne, any comment on your attire before the  _Planet_ runs the story?”

Jim took a step back, frowning. The air had turned heated between the two men; he could almost taste the tension.

“Yes,” Wayne finally said, clipped. “The next person who kidnaps me is getting one hell of a surprise.”

Kent’s smile widened. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying.”

“Why on earth would you say I’m lying?” Wayne levelled an impressive glare at Kent, digging his heel into the dirt. “I didn’t know the  _Planet_ hired idiots–”

“ _Imp_ lying, Mr. Wayne–”

Jim watched as the two men drifted closer with every jab traded, leaning in toward each other. Ramirez grabbed his elbow, pulling him back a few feet so the two could have a little privacy.

“Who let him in?” She asked, as Wayne threw his hands up, inches from Kent’s face. The reporter didn’t flinch. “No press past the tape, right?”

“No idea,” Jim said, watching as Kent’s glasses slipped past his eyes, a vivid flash of blue catching his gaze before he righted the frames. “Must be a smooth talker.”

“–don’t like the way you’re speaking to me at  _all_ ,” Wayne was growling, his finger in Kent’s face.

“Oh yeah?” the reporter’s voice dropped to a deep baritone, a shiver of authority running through it. The change in tone was…almost familiar. “Well, I don’t like your underwear.”

Wayne tilted his head, putting a hand to his hip. Jim put a hand to his face as the billionaire cocked his hip out, cameras flashing instantly to catch the pose. “Why the hell not?”

“For starters,” Kent bit his lip, looking up through his lashes. “They’re still  _on_.”

Whatever was said after that was obscured by the blood rushing to his head. Jim grabbed Ramirez’s hand, stumbling toward the ambulance, half-dragging the lieutenant behind him.

“We’re missing the best part!” she protested.

Jim blinked, willing the image of Wayne’s briefs from his mind.

“I think we all saw more than enough.”


End file.
